


Come On, Tough Guy

by Whoareyou0000



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Canon Gay Relationship, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Endgame Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Hurt Ian Gallagher, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher and Mickey Milkovich in Love, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich Fluff, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich Happy Ending, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich Marriage Proposal, Injured Ian Gallagher, M/M, Mickey Milkovich Loves Ian Gallagher, Mickey Milkovich Takes Care of Ian Gallagher, Missing Scene, POV Ian Gallagher, Protective Mickey Milkovich, Soft Ian Gallagher, Soft Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Soft Mickey Milkovich, Supportive Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:21:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27015670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whoareyou0000/pseuds/Whoareyou0000
Summary: “Come on, tough guy, I’ll race ya.”Ian actually laughed, shaking his head. A streetlight illuminated Mickey’s daring, contagious smirk. They had a couple of blocks until they reached the house, and, no matter what awaited them there, it felt good to be home.“Fuck you.” Ian shot back, but his lips curled into a slow smile. “Twenty bucks and a blowjob says I’m faster on crutches.”or...The missing scene from Episode 10x10 wherein they actually discuss important relationship things like wedding planning, kids, family dysfunction, and make-up sex.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 4
Kudos: 244





	Come On, Tough Guy

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Shameless or the characters within. Rated M for graphic talk of sex, violence, and language. This departs from canon a bit, mostly with their talk of kids and the wedding.
> 
> Author's Note: This missing scene takes place between the proposal in Episode 10x10 and Lip's big announcement. For the purposes of this fic, the concert they attended was in a northside neighborhood, as it would make sense given it's a hipster band. Basically I loved their energy when they returned home and I wanted to know what they were teasing each other about. Enjoy and please review!

“Two trains to get home, man. Fucking hate the North Side.” Mickey leaned against the metal beam and watched the northbound red line zoom past, nearly clearing out the platform. “I can’t believe you proposed to me at some hipster, banjo concert in Lincoln Square. That’ll be the story we have to tell our kids, you know.” 

“Better than over shitty BLTs?” Ian lifted his crutch and poked Mickey’s side playfully from his seat on the wooden bench. The brunette put his hands up in surrender and veered away from the offending rubber tip, making a crutch-length circle and then joining Ian on the other side of the bench. 

“Nothing romantic about mayonnaise.” Ian caught the upturn of Mickey’s lips when their eyes met. He didn’t bother to erase his goofy grin. “What the fuck you starin’ at, tough guy?” 

Ian shifted, his leg aching due to all the non-doctor recommended physical activity over the last few days. It couldn’t rivel the happiness caused by Mickey’s acceptance of his proposal, though. Marriage had seemed so fucking scary, until it wasn’t. 

“My hot fiancé.” 

For all his complaining, the smile never left Mickey’s eyes and Ian’s heart leaped at that breathtaking sight. The ring rested proudly on the shorter man’s finger and he cast a quick glance at it every few minutes, running a tattooed knuckle over its smooth surface. 

“So, kids?” Ian grinned, leaning into Mickey with a teasing smile. “You gonna pay Sandy to carry our love child?” 

“With our genes? Fuck no.” Mickey snorted. The oncoming train illuminated the tunnel and cast a heavenly glow on the delinquent’s pale skin. “We can adopt. Or foster, one less kid in those fucking group homes, man.” 

The southbound red line flew past, its wind knocking Mickey’s hair out of place and prompting him to pull his coat closed. Ian gripped his crutches and struggled to his feet, his pain increasing with the pressure. Mickey noticed the wince and hooked an arm under Ian’s to help. They made their way slowly to the platform’s edge against exiting passengers who pushed past them to get out to the stairs. By the time Mickey and Ian reached the door, it slammed shut. The train engine revved, ready to make its move.

“Hey, open the fucking door!” Mickey banged on the metal exterior and glared into the driver’s side mirror. The train started and then jolted, displacing the standing passengers. The door snapped open and Mickey held it with his hands this time, giving Ian plenty of time to limp inside. When they reach the center aisle of the crowded car, Ian gripped a strap with one hand and tried to balance the crutches with the other. Mickey snaked a hand around his lower back, holding him steady through the next stop. Then Mickey’s beady eyes trained on a young, stick thin, tattooed punk draped across the disabled seating, chains hanging from his denim vest. Nostrils flared, the Milkovich pounced. “Hey asshole, can’t you see he’s on crutches?”

Ian shrunk back when Mickey gestured his way. The punk barely lifted his eyes from his IPhone. 

“Yea, so?” The young man snarked. Ian hid his growing smirk as Mickey’s temper boiled over.

“So, what do you think the blue wheelchair sign means, dickhead? Get the fuck up.” 

Mohawk did get up, glaring at Mickey as he made his way to the other side of the car. Then Mickey turned to Ian, eyebrows raised in expectation, and gestured to the empty seat. “Well? Sit down, hobbles. We got twelve stops to go and I can’t hold your crippled ass up for all of ‘em.” 

Ian did and Mickey immediately claimed the space in front of his seat, hands perched on the top metal bar and a protective glare cast at anyone who bothered to look. A couple stops passed in silence. Then Mickey glanced from side to side and locked dangerously warm eyes on Ian with a quirk of his lips.

“Fuck the courthouse. Let’s have a real wedding.” 

Ian leaned forward and stared up at his favorite Milkovich, raising his eyebrows teasingly. 

“A real wedding? You know you’d have to wear a tux, right? And a tie?” Mickey shrugged. “You’d have to actually enter a church willingly, Mick.”

“We don’t need a church. You look good in a tux and I own a bowtie, it’s fuckin’ classy.” The train screeched to a halt at the next stop. A few people scurried out. Mickey lowered his voice and swiped at his eyebrow. “This is for real, Ian, not like the last time. I wanna get it right.” 

They exchanged a soft smile. At that moment Ian would have hijacked the fucking train if Mickey asked, so of course he already knew his answer. 

“Yea, okay. Let’s have a wedding.” The brakes screeched. Someone laughed loudly on the other side of the car. Mickey scowled in that general direction and rolled his eyes. Ian tugged his crutches closer. “How we gonna pay for it, though?”

Mickey didn’t quite meet Ian’s eyes. “I got resources. Don’t worry ‘bout it.” Milkovich code for gun running or murder for hire, Ian figured. Then Mickey’s gaze traveled down to Ian’s leg and softened. “Wish you weren’t stuck in that fuckin’ cast.”

Ian shrugged. “Eh, I've had worse. I’ll be off the crutches in a couple weeks. Won’t be doing the chicken dance anytime soon, though.” 

Mickey scoffed. “Anyone tries to do that fuckin’ dance at our wedding I’ll shoot ‘em myself. We’re not straight enough for that shit.” Mickey declared it with such seriousness that Ian believed him. “I just mean, I wish you’d never broken it at all.” 

Mickey’s face creased into something resembling guilt. Ian knitted his eyebrows and frowned at this entire unfamiliar turn. The man had never once shown regret for their fight and the thought that he blamed himself twisted Ian’s stomach in a bad way. He looked both ways before crossing their public threshold and lightly brushing his pinky finger against the jean-clad thigh.

“Mick, I don’t blame you for my leg. It just happened. I know you didn’t mean it.”

“Course I didn’t fuckin’ mean it.” He exploded and then adjusted his stance as the car sped up and rocked violently. A lightshow erupted outside of the dark windows. As they slowed towards the next stop, his voice lowered. “I just, I don’t wanna be like my pops, ya know? Frank either. You’re gonna be my husband. Beating up on you, that ain’t right.” 

Mickey dropped his fuck hand, grazing Ian's thumb, and gave a defeated sigh before breaking contact with the next rush of passengers. 

“You’re not your dad, Mick. I mean, yea, we’re fucked up and we fight dirty, but we also love hard. I know you’d never actually hurt me on purpose.” Ian examined Mickey’s freshly bruised knuckles, feeding his own regret. “Besides, I deserved it this time.” 

The train started up again. A blonde lady took a newly empty space to Ian's left and immediately cracked open a book. Mickey turned his back to her to give them some semblance of privacy. 

“You left me at the altar, dick. Course you deserved the fuckin’ shiner.” Ian laughed lightly. Mickey stared at his cast, dragging a finger over the soft cotton between his leg and the outer shell. “Not this, though.” 

Ian didn’t shy away from the touch, not even when the train wobbled and nearly sent Mickey into his lap. They shared a sheepish smile as the brunette found his way back to the upper bar and then Ian tried another proposal.

“Okay. So, maybe one of our vows will be to not beat the shit out of each other every time we disagree. I’m a Gallagher so it’ll take a while to unlearn all that bullshit, but you’re right. I don’t want to hurt you either.” 

Mickey rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue. “A Gallagher and a Milkovich. I’m surprised we haven’t killed each other yet.” 

A homeless man caught Mickey’s eye and then quickly retreated at the sight of his mean face. Ian swallowed a laugh. Mickey could be such a guard dog and it was fucking hot, but in the privacy of their bedroom, under Ian’s touch, he became a pile of fluff with teeth. 

“Like Romeo and Juliette?” Ian smirked, tongue between his teeth. 

Mickey shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Jesus Christ, you’re so fuckin’ gay.”

Ian held tight to their usual banter. “I thought that was obvious with the ass fucking and cock sucking.” 

Mickey grinned, biting his tongue. Some drunk teenager shoved past him and made for the door, pushing him so close that their knees touched. The contact sent a tingle straight to Ian’s groin and Mickey’s flushed cheeks and soft smile seemed to agree. Then the train hit stop number eleven, nearly emptying out the car. Mickey stayed in place, hovering over Ian like he owned him. 

Hell, of course he did. 

The blonde lady beside Ian glanced briefly in their direction, her face pale, and then turned quickly back to her book. “Yea that’s right Goldilocks, he sucks my cock real good. Now go back to Fifty Shades and mind your business.” 

Ian leaned forward and whispered over the train’s rumbling. “She looks North Side, Mick. They support the gays, remember?” 

“Fucking North Side, man.” He dragged a hand lightly through Ian’s hair and flashed the Milkovich smirk. “Can’t wait to get home and start on the make-up sex. Missed you.”

The South Side. The Gallagher house. Ian’s bed. Ian. The fact that Mickey considered any of those _home_ made the redhead's heart warm. All their years of suffering and bullshit had finally come full circle and somehow, they’d made it together. 

“Yea, I missed you too.” Ian’s phone buzzed, ruining the moment. He retrieved it from his jeans pocket, handing Mickey a crutch for safe-keeping, and stared at the text on his screen. His stomach dropped and he exhaled a warning. “Might have to wait on the sex. Lip’s calling a family meeting.”

“The fuck’s a _family meeting?_ ” Mickey’s eyebrows met in the center of his forehead. Ian shrugged. The intercom announced the next stop, 79th, and they both shifted, preparing for their departure. “Is that like an intervention?” 

“I don’t know, maybe? Can’t be good.” The train screeched to a halt and Mickey helped Ian up onto his good leg. Now face to face, Ian swallowed the growing lump in his throat and the question that never quite made it to his lips. 

Mickey, eyes suddenly darker, slid one supportive hand behind his back and gripped his jacket with the other to keep him upright. “Fuck it, I’m a Gallagher now. Let’s go find out.” 

Ian nodded gratefully. They’d never needed words to understand each other.

Mickey followed Ian out onto the platform and guided him carefully down the stairs. They took to the street, where a sudden gust of cold wind slapped them, a reminder that winter would soon arrive in the city and they needed each other’s warmth more than ever. Ian shivered, his stomach still a tight, worried knot, and Mickey lightly nudged his shoulder with a loose fist. 

“Come on, tough guy, I’ll race ya.” 

Ian actually laughed, shaking his head. A streetlight illuminated Mickey’s daring, contagious smirk. They had a couple of blocks until they reached the house, and, no matter what awaited them there, it felt good to be home. 

“Fuck you.” Ian shot back, but his lips curled into a slow smile. “Twenty bucks and a blowjob says I’m faster on crutches.” 

“I’ll take that bet.” Mickey walked backwards, rounding the corner to North Wallace, leading and taunting the redhead along. He cast periodic glances around, surveying their surroundings, ever the protector. Ian wondered how he could have ever doubted this man. 

“Come on, Army. That all you got? Come on.” 

Ian plowed forward, suddenly lighter and filled with hope.


End file.
